


Every Little Thing Anticipates You

by coloursflyaway



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-08 01:03:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10374330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloursflyaway/pseuds/coloursflyaway
Summary: In a world where everything you write onto your skin appears on your soulmate's as well, there are five times Todd writes Svlad, and one time Dirk writes back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A lovely anon on Tumblr asked for Brotzly and that thing where you can see whatever your soulmate writes onto their skin, so here we go!

Teddy wakes up because something tickles his wrist, a peculiar sensation, especially in the middle of the night. The night light his mum always leaves on is still emitting a soft, warm glow, which is just enough for him to see the thin, white lines, looking just like the scar he has from falling off his bike when he was younger.  
They’re not gnarly like those, though, but swift, curved strokes, forming a single word.

 _Hello_.

He scrubs a hand over his face, his eyes, but when he looks back at his wrist, the word is still there, written out in thin scars. For a moment, he considers crying out for his mum, even if that means waking Amanda as well, who is still sleeping in their parents’ room, but then the tickling is back, and Teddy watches more lines appear, slowly forming a letter, a word, finally, a name.

_I’m Svlad. What’s your name?_

It’s a question Teddy thinks might be directed at him, because it’s his wrist the words appeared on after all, but he pauses anyway. Ever since he can remember, his mother has been adamant about him not talking to strangers, and yet this is different, has to be. This isn’t a man telling him about the candy he has in his truck, this is… a ghost, maybe, a ghost living in his arm.  
Not answering question is rude, and Teddy doesn’t want to anger a ghost – any ghost, in fact – so the decision to reply is quickly made, only poses another problem:  
Cutting into his wrist with his dad’s razor sounds painful, and like something his mum definitely would yell at him about, so after a few moment of consideration, Teddy gets up and finds his pencil case. He’s only been allowed to write with a fountain pen for a few weeks now, but he takes it out now, because this feels special somehow.

 _Hello_ , _I’m Thaddeus, but everyone calls me Teddy_ , he writes back, just beneath the scars, hesitates for a moment. _What are you doing in my arm?_  
There is no response for several moments, which is slightly disappointing, but then a dot appears below his writing, spreads out to form more curves and swirls, more words.

_You replied!!! Bart said you wouldn’t, but she’s always wrong._

_And I’m not in your arm. I’m in England._

It sounds a bit like a lie to Teddy, because his arm is obviously not in England and yet this Svlad is writing on it, but he doesn’t care enough to call the ghost out on it. Maybe it’s just confused after all.

 _Who is Bart?_ _And why shouldn’t I reply? It’s my arm after all._

It’s difficult to write on skin, Teddy finds, the ink smudges easily under his clumsy fingers, but he manages, hopes that Svlad can read his handwriting better than Mr. Adams, who always scolds him for being so messy.

_She’s my friend. And it’s my arm too!_

* * *

 

The second time Teddy wakes up, it’s because his mum screams. Light is filtering through the curtains, and Teddy must have fallen asleep somewhere between writing on his chest and his throat; he just hopes that Svlad won’t be mad at him for stopping to reply.  
He sits up, rubbing his eyes, and wonders why his mum is looking at him so horrified, only realises when she picks up his left arm and pulls it up, examining the smudged blue ink and the faint scarred letters.  
“What happened, sweetheart?”, she asks, traces a finger down that first Hello, and Teddy almost wants to pull his arm away, because this isn’t his mum’s _Hello_ , it’s not her conversation, not her new friend. Svlad is all Teddy’s, and he wants to keep it that way.

“I met a ghost yesterday. He’s my soulmate, he said, and we’ll get married when we’re older.” He lifts his chin, ready to defend himself and the possibly dead boy he met the night before, but his mum’s eyes soften, a small smile appears on her lips, the one she sometimes smiles when Teddy’s dad brings home flowers.  
“Oh honey”, she breathes out; her finger brushes over the greeting again. She sits down on the side of his bed.  
“He’s from England”, Teddy tells her, still not sure if he’ll have to argue, but his mum’s smile stays in place, her touch is still gentle. “At least that is what he said.”

A moment passes in which Teddy’s mum seems to be unsure what to say or what to do, but it doesn’t last long. In the end, she wraps her arms around him, lifts him out of his bed and into her lap, something she hasn’t done ever since Amanda was born.  
Teddy likes it, even if he’s a big boy already, wraps his arms around her neck.  
“How about this, sweetheart”, she starts, and her voice is almost as warm as the hand on the back of his head, carding through the hair there. “I’ll call the school and tell them you’re sick, and then you’re going to tell me all about this boy. If you want to, I’ll even make pancakes.”

Teddy nods, smears blue ink across his mother’s neck, and wonders if Svlad in England likes pancakes too.


	2. Chapter 2

_I don’t want to go_ , Svlad scribbles on the soft skin of his thigh, underlines the _don’t_ , just so Teddy will know how much he means it. Lately, Colonel Riggins and the seemingly endless row of doctors he brings with him haven’t been pleased by his results in the tests they have him do.   
They are getting increasingly difficult, not just cards with hearts and crosses and dolphins, now there are hypothetical scenarios, murders and kidnappings and different kinds of state crisis, which he is supposed to solve by looking at the paper they have written the questions on for long enough, sometimes throughout the night.   
When he’s not quick enough, they give him jalapenos to chew, which turn his mouth into purgatory itself, make him put his feet in icy water. It doesn’t do anything but distract him, but Svlad has long since learnt that his opinions are not what the doctors want to hear.

He’s about to pull up his pants again, but then his skin starts to prickle in that familiar way; Teddy is replying and although Svlad knows he’s late for his daily session, he at least has to see what his soulmate wants to say.

_I know. But once you’re done, I can tell you about how Amanda bit a girl at school today._

There’s a certain kind of warmth spreading in Svlad’s stomach and chest, the kind he has come to associate with Teddy and Teddy alone; he picks up the pen he stole from Colonel Riggins two weeks ago and scrawls, _Great! Can’t wait! Bye for now!_  
The amount of exclamation marks always makes Teddy laugh, or that is at least what the other told him a few months ago; ever since then, Svlad has made sure to use even more of them.

Hiding his pen again, Svlad gets up and pulls up his pants, tying the drawstring tight. He can’t be sure if Colonel Riggins would mind him having found his soulmate, but Svlad won’t risk that, not when it could mean he’ll lose Teddy. After all, he’s the only one Svlad has left, now after they have taken Bart away, and that before he ever could meet the girl face-to-face.   
If that means that he’ll have to spend another five years hiding his arms and legs, ask Teddy not to write for a few days when he knows that a medical exam is coming up, steal pens whenever he possibly can, he will do just that.

That’s why he makes sure he looks presentable now, that the trail of shuriken Teddy has painted across their collar bones is hidden, even ignores the tickling on the inside of his thigh that means that Teddy is replying.   
For a moment, Svlad allows himself a rare pleasure: a dream.

He dreams of getting out of Black Wing, away from the tests and the small room he lives in now, the hiding and the prodding. He dreams of going to America, to Seattle in particular, and he dreams of meeting Amanda, the little sister his soulmate writes so much about. It feels like he doesn’t have to meet his soulmate anymore, because he knows him so well already, and yet he dreams about that too, about Teddy picking him up at the airport, holding a sign with Svlad’s name on it. He dreams of hugging the other, feeling a living, breathing body against his, of finding out how Teddy smells, how his voice sounds, how his skin would feel against Svlad’s lips, should he dare to press a kiss to his cheek.  
He dreams of a life in America, of living with Teddy and getting a cat, eating pizza every day instead of only at his birthday, of buying his own clothes and going ice skating and waking up in a cosy bed with sunlight filtering through the curtains, feeling safe and happy and loved.

Usually dreams are meant for night time, when he can spend long moments painting the walls of their imagined apartment in the brightest colours, try to conjure up a face from the messy sketches Teddy drew in scars on his calf some months ago. But Svlad doesn’t have time yet for any of this, so a brief glimpse has to do for now, before he straightens and hopes that it will be enough to get him through whatever the day holds in store for him.

 

“Svlad, we have been thinking”, Doctor Seitchek says and her voice is so gentle, so friendly that Svlad represses a shudder; this can’t be anything but a bad sign. There is a reason why she is his second to least favourite doctor in all of Black Wing. “And this is not working, you know that as well as we do. We thought that maybe the jalapenos would be enough, but they clearly aren’t. So we will try something new now. Take off your shirt.”  
“What?”

Svlad can feel the blood drain from his cheeks, his heart first stops, then starts beating thrice as quickly. His fingers curl around the hem of his grey shirt, as if he could somehow keep it there, hiding the scribbles in blue and black on his skin, the scar-like lines in between.   
He feels cold all over, terrified, and Doctor Seitchek doesn’t even flinch, only her smile grows tense, annoyed.

“Take off your shirt”, she repeats, pronouncing each word carefully, the vowels crisp and clear, and yet almost drowned out by the ringing in Svlad’s ears. He has been afraid before, terrified even, and yet it’s nothing against this, a bone-deep fear that pumps through his body with every beat of his heart, another ice-age starting in his chest, the pit of his stomach.   
It’s not a hunch, it’s worse than that; it’s a certainty.   
They are going to take his soul mate from him.

“Can’t you do it when I’m dressed?”, he asks, and no matter how hard he tries, he cannot keep the desperation out of his voice, his fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt a little bit tighter still. “It’s – it’s so cold.”  
“It isn’t”, Doctor Seitchek replies impatiently, steps closer, her eyes narrowing. “And I don’t have time for this, Svlad. Take. It. _Off_.”  
“No.”  
Of course it is futile; if they want to, they can make him undress, but for some reason, it feels important to resist, just to know that he has done everything he could to keep Teddy safe and with him.   
“Why?” Doctor Seitchek says the words like it’s an accusation already – she knows something is wrong, just cannot yet pinpoint what it is. Maybe, Svlad thinks and feels himself despairing, if what she thinks now is worse than what he really is hiding, maybe they won’t be as mad at him. “Svlad, what have you done?”  
“Nothing!”

“I won’t be mad at you, if you tell me now”, Doctor Seitchek tells him, her voice to sweet to be genuine, and Svlad cannot even speak, can’t answer.   
He just shakes his head, his knuckles protesting as he grips his shirt tighter, feels the fabric strain against his skin.   
“Please, don’t”, he finally whispers out, holding onto the sounds like they could maybe safe him.   
They can’t.

 

* * *

 

 

He most likely will never speak again, Svlad thinks to himself after the door has shut; his throat is raw from screaming, crying, begging, until not even a whisper would come out anymore. His eyes are hurting, as if someone scrubbed them clean with sandpaper, but his tears have long since dried up, because Svlad spilt them all already, leaving him empty inside, a giant hole gaping in his chest and swallowing up all emotions.   
All the pens he hid under his mattress, the corners of his closet, taped under the sink, are gone now, every object he got for good behaviour removed from his room, his skin scrubbed clean and pink. Teddy’s words are still there, thin white lines, but Svlad knows that they’ll fade, like they always do, and knows that he won’t be able to reply anymore; they have made sure of it.

_A distraction_ is what they called Teddy, _unnecessary_ , Doctor Seitchek sneering at him when she found the little smiling daisy Svlad drew on his ankle the night before, the shuriken on his collarbones.   
Teddy is anything but that, Svlad would give his life to prove it, but of course that wouldn’t do either of them any good. And he cannot even tell Teddy, have the other reply with a quip or a quick doodle, a familiar _It’s going to be fine, Svlad_ following the line of his hipbone, which always feels a bit like a caress when the words appear on his skin.   
The thought makes his eyes prickle with tears, although he feels completely dehydrated already, because not being able to talk to Teddy again, maybe never again, might just be the worst punishment in existence. Already, his soulmate’s absence is clawing at his heart, a quiet, cruel ache.

And Teddy won’t know what happened, will think that Svlad is dead, or in a coma, or even worse, doesn’t want to speak to him any longer.   
A tear rolls down his cheek, the pain in his chest multiplying until it is hard to breathe; he cannot let this happen. There are cameras in his room, at least there are now, so he will have to be quick; there’s nothing to write with, so he will have to be creative.   
He sits down onto the mattress, the ache momentarily easier to bear because he has something to do, a goal to achieve.

There is nothing left but the barest amount of furniture, the walls, the door… and him.   
It’s an idea like a sun rise after a seemingly endless night, a glimmer of hope, and that’s enough to try.

The pain is sharp when he bites down onto his thumb, but Svlad hardly registers it, because the ache in his chest is so much worse, instead bites down harder, harder, until he can taste salt and copper.   
When he pulls his hand away, there is blood spilling down to his palm, smearing pale skin a bright red, and Svlad writes tall, messy letters down his arm.

_HELP THEY WON’T LET M_

That’s when the guards come in.

 

* * *

 

 

The door is slammed closed behind him, and Svlad is tired, impossibly tired and allows his body to crumple right where he is standing. They have washed the blood off his arm, and yet he raises it to the height of his eyes, ignores the white material of the mitten they secured around his wrist, making it impossible to get to the skin beneath, to write, and lets his cloth-covered fingers trace the new letters scattered across his arm, messier than he is used to, hurriedly scrawled onto skin.

_What is wrong?_

_What happened?_

_Svlad, what is going on?????_

_Why aren’t you answering???_

_Did they hurt you???_

_Svlad???_

_Please answer, just so I know you’re okay_

_Please, I can’t lose you_

_Please_

_Please_

_I will find you, I swear, Svlad, I will find you and get you home_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that this took like three hundred years, but writer's block can be a bitch sometimes.   
> Anyway, this is it, and I hope it soothes the bit of pain still left from the last chapter~ ♥

Teddy becomes Todd three years after Svlad has stopped replying. It’s a new name which feels like it belongs to him, the name of someone who can take on the world in a fight and still win, maybe the name of someone who can take on a major government organisation that either killed his soulmate or is still holding him hostage, and in the best-case scenario, get said soulmate back.   
It’s been years, and feels even longer, and yet the wound that Svlad’s disappearance has left hurts almost as much as it did during the first, torturous days.

He'd like to say that it’s the not-knowing which is the worst, because that is what people on TV repeat and repeat again, almost religiously, but it isn’t, what is worst is: Everything.   
It’s not knowing, and it’s fearing that somewhere out there, Svlad is being tortured, it’s knowing that there is someone out there, who complements him perfectly and yet isn’t at Todd’s side, it’s knowing how it feels to have a soulmate and having that ripped away from him.   
Above all that, though, it’s missing Svlad like Todd doesn’t think he could miss anyone else, with body and soul and everything in between. He has heard people describe the loss of a soulmate to the loss of a limb, or a piece of the person’s soul, and yet neither of those comparisons ring true to Todd; it’s something else entirely.

Svlad was never a part of him, just like Todd could never be part of Svlad; it’s more and less at the same time, not only a piece, but a whole other soul hidden inside of the other’s. Emotions intertwining, hurts overshadowing each other’s, joy merging and becoming a vaster, brighter thing, tendrils of worry creeping through their souls, touching everything and yet leaving it intact.   
Todd could have dealt with losing a part of himself, a part of his soul, but with Svlad gone, he has lost the whole thing, lost himself as well as his soulmate.

Occasionally, he still writes Svlad, scribbles a few words onto his wrist, but always stops before it gets too much, because every second that passes without getting an answer adds a little bit to the weight crushing his chest. He can remember that last message, will remember it for the rest of his life, the thick smears of scar-like tissue winding themselves across his arm, the desperation he had felt, the fear, how quickly they had vanished. From time to time dreams of them.   
Maybe those nights are the worst after all, because he wakes and feels everything for the first time again, every bit of crazed worry, heart-shattering panic, pained affection. And yet, he almost looks forward to them, too, just to reaffirm that even after all those years, his feelings have lost none of their intensity, that Blackwing might have driven them apart, but couldn’t sever the bond between them.

His mother sometimes looks at him with sad eyes when she thinks he isn’t looking, hushes Amanda when she starts to babble about what she learnt about soulmates in school, like it would change a thing. She doesn’t understand, she can’t, because her soulmate is sitting right at her side, while Todd’s is lost somewhere in England.   
Still, she tries, and he is glad for it, just like he is glad for the hand his dad places on his shoulder when a romcom is playing on TV, Amanda’s arms around his neck when she finally realises why the word _soulmate_ is taboo in their house.    
It doesn’t change a thing, but it makes dealing with it just a little bit easier.

 

Just over five years have passed, and Todd has almost forgotten the tingly sensation that accompanies a message written across his soulmate’s skin, mirrored in scarred lines across his own, to the point where, when it happens again, it takes a few, long moments until he realises what the strange sensation on his forearm means. It’s the faintest of feelings, a half-forgotten dream, and yet enough to make his stomach drop, his heart seize up in a way he has never felt before; one of his hands is already struggling to push up his sleeve, before his brain has even started to catch up.

The lines are even weaker than the tingling was, hardly readable on his pale skin, but they are there nonetheless; gnarled letters curling and stretching on his arm, and although it’s been so long, the writing looks so familiar that Todd can hardly read it at first, because tears cloud his vision, make them blur.

_Hello_

It’s hardly a message, just one word, and yet it seems to brighten Todd’s whole world within a second, feels like a weight Todd has been carrying around for five years now has suddenly been lifted from his shoulders.   
Somewhere, and it doesn’t matter where, _somewhere_ , Svlad is alive, pressing a pen to his arm and writing; he might not be well, but he is well enough for this, and for now, that is enough.

He's shaking, Todd realises distractedly, his fingers trembling and his knees feeling weak, unable to move, to do anything but stare at the scarred patch of skin, tracing the word with his eyes, almost expecting it to vanish again. After such a long time, it feels like it’s just as likely that he has gone mad as that Svlad is really, truly writing him again.

Someone bumps into him from behind, reminding Todd that he is standing in the middle of the street; the stranger mutters an apology which Todd cannot even reply to, he’s too caught up in finding back into this world, in raising a hand again and touching fingertips to the raised lines.   
They feel just like scars, nothing but raised tissue, nothing _special_ , and yet like a revelation. It’s that touch which makes it feel real, and suddenly Todd is sure he is about to faint, stumbles and only stops when he feels a wall behind him, something solid to hold him up when his own body doesn’t seem to be able to do so anymore.   
He’s breathing heavily, close to hyperventilating, and yet feels lighter than he has in years, eyes fixed on his arm, those blessed letters.

It takes several minutes, or so Todd thinks, until his mind has stopped reeling enough to form a clear thought, the only thought he needs.   
His hands are still shaking as he takes down his backpack, rummaging through it until he finds a pen, almost dried out and yet good enough; he’ll find another one as soon as he gets home, but right now, he needs to let Svlad know that he is still here, still _waiting_.

_I’m here_ , he writes, and the letters are as shaky as he feels, half vanishing due to the dried ink, and yet, Todd just knows that it’s enough, or at least better than nothing, because Svlad’s message felt like the first drop of rain on the lips of a man dying of thirst, and his soulmate surely has missed him just as much.

A few, breathless, thoughtless moments pass, and then there it is again, the faintest kind of tingling, a sensation that makes tears well up in Todd’s eyes with the familiar beauty of it. Once more, they make it hard to see, skin and scars blurring together, until Todd blinks them away.   
_I’m back_ , has been written onto his skin, the lines uneven and messy, but still utterly beautiful to Todd’s eyes, _How are you? How have you been?_

His heart is still beating too fast, and yet Todd cannot help but laugh; the questions are so mundane, so sweet, and so like the Svlad he has come to know, has loved and missed.   
He hesitates a moment, just one, then writes back.

_I’m better now._

 

 

Todd quickly finishes scrubbing his arms and legs clean – or at least clean enough – for the tenth time at least this evening, before he walks back to his room.His skin is pink and tender by now, but Todd doesn’t care the slightest, just picks up the pen from where he left it on his bed, puts it to his thigh, in between scarred letters and small drawings, and starts writing.

_I wish you could just come to America. Live with me. I want to finally meet you._

_Me too. Maybe in a few months, when they have stopped looking for me… I want to meet you too. I’ve thought so much about it._

The words make Todd smile, shiver pleasantly; if he could, he would hug Svlad, burrow his face in the other’s neck, breathe him in, but for now, this has to suffice. So he closes his eyes for a moment, allows himself to relish in the joy of having Svlad back, of loving and being loved, of having a future again, and sets the pen against his skin again.   
They have talked hours by now, about what happened to Svlad, about what happened to Todd, how the other managed to escape Blackwing’s grasp, but there is another thing which he never told Svlad before they were separated, because it never seemed important, and something he always wanted to have put into words afterwards; something Svlad knows, and yet should see, written out in scarred letters against his skin.

_Another thing_ , he writes, and his foolish heart picks up its pace, like it didn’t already know its feelings are requited. _I love you._

There is nothing, nothing at all, for a few, long minutes, Todd’s eyes fixed on the unmarked skin beneath his message. He doesn’t doubt Svlad, he never would, and yet he feels every muscle of his body tense in agitation, his heart beating wildly, picking up its pace once more when a single dot appears, a thin line spreading from it, a single stroke of scarred tissue, another appearing next to it, another, another.

_I love you, too._

**Author's Note:**

> In case you want to say hi, send me a prompt, or tell me something nice, you can find me on Tumblr here:  
> [X](http://www.coloursflyaway.tumblr.com)


End file.
